


Grounded

by velocitygrass



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-20
Updated: 2010-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velocitygrass/pseuds/velocitygrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending over a decade researching for his second book, Rodney McKay has to face the loss of his money and home. John Sheppard, the grandson of an old friend of Rodney's, is happy to offer him a place to stay in his grandmother's boarding house that he plans to reopen. As they try to deal with their respective futures, their pasts catch up with them in ways that give both of their lives a new direction and new hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> Some additional content notices: Mention of deaths of minor characters in the past (including Jeannie as a child). Brief contemplation of suicide. Deals with grief and implications of homophobia (both external and internalized). Also mention of mental illness.

"What do you mean I'm broke? What about my investments? I must have thousands in—"

"Rodney. It's all gone." Each word was enunciated as if to make sure they all traveled all the way through the line to Oakrich into Rodney's ear.

"But how is that possible?! I was a millionaire!" Rodney shouted into the phone.

"Yes, you were. Fifteen years ago. And contrary to what you might be thinking, the world hasn't stopped spinning since then."

"I'm aware of _that_," Rodney said, looking around his study, where years and years of research had accumulated. "But I'm not exactly living the high life. I'm not going on vacation. I'm wearing the same ratty clothes until they fall apart. I don't even have a goddamn car. This house is big, but I could pay rent for _ten_ of these and still not go through a million dollars in fifteen years!"

"It's not the rent. At least not just that," Jerry said, sounding tired. "Look around you, Rodney."

Rodney didn't know what he meant. He was surrounded by his work of fifteen years. And while time was money, it didn't come off his bank account.

"Every book that you have imported from somewhere in the world. Every photo, every artifact, every sound bite. It's fifty dollars here, two hundred there. Throw in the odd five thousand and there's nothing left."

"But the book," Rodney said quietly.

"The book is _fifteen_ years old. And considering that, it's still doing remarkably well. You can survive on it, Rodney. You won't have to _hunger_. But you can't continue the way you have."

Rodney sat down on his armchair, defeated. "I...okay. What do I have to do?"

"Rodney," Jerry's voice came through the receiver, sympathetic but weary. "There's nothing you can do. You pack your things, look for a cheap place to live and start over."

That couldn't be. Everything had been fine just a week ago. "Surely there's something I could sell."

"Maybe. You try and do that," Jerry said.

"I?" Rodney asked.

"Yes, you. I'm sorry, but you're on your own now."

"You can't just—" Rodney begun.

"What I can't is continue this," Jerry interrupted him.

"You didn't even give me a warning!" Rodney shouted, angry now.

There was a moment of silence. "Rodney. You ignore my emails and letters. You don't even pick up the phone. You only call me when you need something. Go through your mail."

Rodney picked up the phone, an old one that was still attached to a cable, and went to his desk. He checked the folder where all emails from Jerry automatically ended up. Two hundred something unread mails. He didn't open the folder.

"You wouldn't be what you are without me," Rodney said defiantly.

"No, I wouldn't. But I have other clients now. _Authors_. Who actually _write_," Jerry said.

"I write. I have hundreds of—"

"You have _nothing_. You have no outline, no chapter, no summary. You cannot even tell me what your book is about."

"It's complicated!"

"It's a fantasy, and I don't mean the genre. You've been living in a dream world the last fifteen years, and it's time to wake up."

Rodney swallowed his anger and relented. "Okay. Yes, you're right. I can see that I...might have lost sight of the goal."

"Fifteen years," Jerry reminded him.

"I can change. I'll focus on actually producing something. If you'll just help me find—" Rodney pleaded.

"No," Jerry said simply.

"How can you give up on me this easily?" Rodney asked, hating the whining in his own voice, but he'd always been able to count on Jerry.

"Rodney, _fifteen years_," Jerry said. "I wish you all the best in the world. And if you ever have something to shop around, let me know. I'll gladly represent your next book. But I can't continue to help you avoid the real world. I think I should have done this a lot sooner. I'm sorry I didn't. Goodbye, Rodney."

"Wait, Jerry, don't—" But it was too late. Jerry had hung up.

Rodney quickly re-dialed his number, but it was only Marjorie, Jerry's assistant.

"I'm sorry, Rodney," she said, and he could hear that she meant it, but she still wouldn't put him through.

Rodney hung up and stared at the phone for a while. Then his gaze fell on the letter that had prompted him to call Jerry in the first place: his eviction notice.

Jerry was right. He could no longer ignore reality. He pulled himself together, picked up the backlog of letters he had ignored and started reading.

~~

A couple of hours later, his stomach started growling. He wished he'd bought a laptop. As it was, he couldn't take his computer with him while he heated up a tin of spaghetti in tomato sauce.

Not that there was much doubt about the final result. Rodney had had the faint hope that Jerry had been wrong. That there was some other asset he still had that Jerry hadn't known about or that simply couldn't be sold so quickly.

He couldn't believe that all his money was gone. He hadn't gone on expensive trips, had purposely avoided to actually travel for his research and corresponded with people via phone, internet or letters instead.

The money should have lasted however long it would take to write his second book.

But Jerry had been right. The relatively moderate rent for a house of this size and the fact that he told Pete to check the special offers when he did Rodney's groceries didn't mean a whole lot when he had a constant stream of expenses for his research.

How could he have lost sight of his finances so completely? The answer to that was very obvious unfortunately: He hadn't wanted it any other way.

When fame had hit after he'd written _Absolute Pressure_, he could have moved anywhere in the world. He could have lived a life of fame and fortune, quickly writing a few other books to cash in on his first success.

But instead of the limelight, he'd chosen to stay in Oakrich. He'd chosen to take the experiences he'd made with his first book and use them to perfect his second. After his father had pretty much lost his mind shortly after his mother had passed away, there had only been his own expectations to fulfill. The money that his first success had earned him would allow him to support him while he wrote the second.

Or so he'd thought. He'd never looked at his finances. He had a banker and he had his agent who took care of all of this. And he hadn't wanted to hear about it or any of the other irrelevant, stupid things that would only distract him from his vision.

He ate, the numbers running through his head.

The sickening part was that a single look at his finances at one point in the last seven years or so would have been enough to make him realize that despite his modest lifestyle the money would run out at some point.

He vaguely recalled Jerry calling him and wanting to talk about money. Rodney had simply ignored him. Back when _Absolute Pressure_ had come out, Jerry had wanted him to go on talk shows and really promote the book, but Rodney had always told him he didn't care about the money. When Jerry had tried to warn him, he'd just assumed it was more of the same. He'd dismissed him, because money didn't matter to him.

Until now that he didn't seem to have any left.

His most pressing problem was the eviction notice. There had to be something that could be turned into cash in his house. He might even have some money lying around. Either way, now that he was aware of the situation, he'd be able to do something about it.

~~

Unfortunately it turned out that Jerry had been right. There was nothing that he could do. As a good customer, the local antiquarian had bought some of his books for a decent price, but paying his outstanding rent hadn't been enough.

After a phone call yielded nothing, he'd borrowed the car of Ms. Jefferson, who came by to clean once a week, and driven down to Richmond. There Rodney had been informed that the owners of the house were glad they wouldn't have to sue for the outstanding rent, but it wouldn't change their mind about the termination of his tenancy. No amount of calling them idiots and throwing around his name had helped, and in the end he had felt embarrassed about making such a scene.

He'd never had a problem with telling people what he thought, with not conforming to society's expectations, but in this instance he knew that they were right, and trying to use his faded fame was something that he abhorred in general. Names shouldn't matter, only substance.

He returned home, only to find a note by Pete, telling him that he hadn't found the money that Rodney usually left for him, so he had paid out of his own pocket, and Rodney could pay him back the next time.

Rodney didn't know whether to laugh or cry. For a moment, he contemplated taking some sleeping pills and setting the house on fire, destroying himself together with what was practically his life's work. He imagined the headlines.

_Reclusive author of_ Absolute Pressure _dies in fire_

Maybe they wouldn't realize it was suicide at first, calling it a tragic accident. He shook his head. He wasn't going to give up. He thought of his sister, struck down by a car as a child.

Her death had changed everything in his family. _His_ death wouldn't change anyone's life. But he still felt that he owed it to Jeannie to keep living when she hadn't been allowed to.

And first and foremost that meant that he'd have to find a place to live.

~~

Deirdre Byrne was one of those great old ladies. She'd come from Ireland, single and pregnant with nothing her own but the clothes on her back and an undefeatable spirit.

That's at least how she liked to tell the story, but Rodney had never doubted her. Her little girl had gone on to marry a rich utilities mogul in Maryland, but Deirdre had preferred to stay in Oakrich, continuing to run her boarding house.

Faced with the decision on where to live now, Deirdre was the natural choice. Jerry had always stayed at her place, as had journalists to interview Rodney, or family over the years, the last time when his mother and then his father had passed away.

As he made his way to Saint Brigid on a bleak but mild November morning, it occurred to him that Deirdre had to be in her eighties now. Not that she'd ever seemed old to him. Even as a teenager, freshly moved from Canada, when everyone over thirty had seemed ancient to him, he'd admired Deirdre as a kindred spirit, who'd remained young at heart.

He had last seen her several years ago, but she'd still been running the boarding house herself, lamenting those new technologies that kept people from actually experiencing things themselves.

He'd tried to argue that the internet didn't necessarily _replace_ experiencing things yourself, but made it possible in cases where actual travel wasn't feasible, not to mention the many ways information could be shared. She'd only waved him off and told him he should get out and see the world. Especially since he could afford it when so many others couldn't.

"My Johnny is traveling around the world," she'd said proudly.

Rodney had pointed out that being in the armed forces could hardly be called 'travelling'.

"But he's seeing the real world," she'd insisted. "There are things that you won't find in books, Rodney."

Thinking about it now, her words seemed almost prophetic. Well, he could tell her that she'd been right. That ignoring the real world had left him with nothing. He had a feeling she'd see it as a challenge.

He rounded the corner to Oakrich Avenue and crossed the street, approaching the old brick building. As he came close, something seemed off. On the way to Saint Brigid, he'd come past shops that he'd never seen before, empty spaces where once had been buildings, and buildings where he last remembered a yard or barren ground.

Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that Deirdre's boarding house might be gone, but as he came to a stop in front of the building and its "Closed until further notice" sign, once again reality sunk in.

Rodney didn't subscribe to the local newspaper, and his only contact with locals were Mrs. Winters, his antiquarian, Joel, his mailman, Ms. Jefferson, and Pete. And they'd long learned that his mind was too pre-occupied to care about local gossip.

He wouldn't have heard about the death of Deirdre. Nobody would have thought to inform him. It was unbelievable that this vibrant woman could be dead.

He looked at the neat hedge in front of the house, the curtains in the windows. There was no life emanating from the house, however it also didn't have that aura of decay and abandonment. Maybe she'd simply been too old to keep it up by herself anymore. Her daughter had died relatively young and of her grandsons one was leading the family business and the other was a soldier.

Maybe she hadn't _died_, but just retired. Maybe she even still _lived_ here. Hanging onto that hope, Rodney stepped up to the door and rang the bell, happy to hear that it was still working.

Minutes ticked by and Rodney rang again, just to assure her he was still there, in case it took a bit longer to make her way to the door. He didn't ring a third time though, ready to give up when he finally heard steps approaching. Rather quick steps.

The door opened, but it wasn't Deirdre.

Rodney looked at the man who was about his age. The resemblance to Deirdre wasn't striking, but it was definitely there. He recalled Deirdre smugly telling him that much to his father's displeasure her Johnny came right after her.

"Rodney McKay," Deirdre's grandson said blankly.

Rodney was taken aback. He wasn't used to strangers knowing his name. Fifteen years ago maybe, but these days the only people who greeted him by name where those he actually knew in person.

"You must be 'Johnny'," he said, feeling a bit better when the man's eyes widened in surprise.

"Uhm, yes. John Sheppard," the man said, frowning. "Is there anything I can do for you?" He was clearly puzzled by the idea.

"I don't suppose Deirdre is..." Rodney began. Feeling stupid that he didn't even know if she was still alive, he opted to be honest. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure if your grandmother is still alive," he asked hopefully.

Sheppard's eyes gave him the answer before he actually spoke. "No. She passed away almost a year ago."

"I'm sorry," Rodney said automatically. "I didn't know," he added unnecessarily, not knowing what else to say.

Sheppard only nodded and gave him a weak smile.

"I'll leave you to do...whatever it was you were doing then," Rodney finished awkwardly, turning around to do just that.

He was down the steps when Sheppard called after him. "What did you want from my grandmother?"

Rodney turned back to him. He hesitated for a moment. His current predicament was humiliating. He would have trusted Deirdre to understand and encourage him, but admitting his situation to a stranger was a different thing altogether. Then again, he still needed to find a new place to live—within the next two days. And this wasn't just any stranger. It was Deirdre's Johnny.

Swallowing his pride, he approached Sheppard again. "I was.... I am looking for accommodation."

"When?" Sheppard asked.

"Now? I mean technically in two days, but if I want to have the whole house empty on the fifteenth, I have to start, you know, _moving_."

Sheppard blinked. "Uhm. I'm sorry. I've only just, well not arrived exactly, but I'm still organizing everything, looking into people to hire, marketing, taxes, state law. I haven't set a date yet for the reopening but it's—"

"Not going to be within the next two days. I understand," Rodney finished for him.

"Yeah. Sorry," Sheppard said again.

"No need to be sorry. This wasn't exactly planned on my part either," Rodney admitted. "I'll keep my eyes open for when it reopens though," he added, looking at the building wistfully.

"Yes," Sheppard said.

Rodney nodded and turned again. This time he made it to the gate, before Sheppard called to him.

"Rodney."

Rodney turned. He noticed Sheppard's use of his first name, but decided that he didn't mind.

"If you're still looking in two days, just give me a call. We're not technically opened, but I have all these empty rooms, and you're a friend of the family..."

Of Deirdre, Rodney thought. But then this was _Deirdre's_ house, her life work. Rodney was pretty sure that had she been alive, he'd have had a place to stay here. Which didn't mean that he took Sheppard's offer for granted. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

Sheppard quickly walked down the steps, checking his pockets. "Ah," he said, fishing out a business card. "They're about the only thing that's ready," he said with a smile, holding the card out to Rodney.

Rodney looked at his face. The smile made Sheppard look younger. He very vaguely recalled images of a young grinning boy with rebellious hair. He took the card and smiled back at Sheppard.

He didn't know what else to say, so he only lifted the card in goodbye and left.

As he looked back when he crossed the street, he saw Sheppard still watching him. He gave Rodney a little wave and went back inside.

Rodney absently waved back and continued on to what was still his home, if only for the next forty-eight hours.

~~

Looking for a place to live quickly became frustrating. One of the problems that Rodney faced was the volatile nature of his income. He had accumulated thousands of books, artifacts, photographs and other materials of research over the years. Some of the things he knew to be valuable, but how much money he could actually make off them, how long it would take and if he was willing to part with them was another matter.

He couldn't count on money from selling his possessions for the moment, and even the steady stream of income from the sales of his book was subject to change from month to month. He certainly could have gone to a bank, but after being brought back down to earth, he felt the need to deal with this himself. He'd counted on others to do it for him far too long.

Mostly, he needed just a bit more time to regroup and evaluate his options. Two months should allow him to go through his possessions and get a better overview over what he had and what he really _needed_. Then he could make a few sales that would give him enough money to have a nest egg big enough to balance the inconsistencies in his income stream.

Which left him with the decision on where to spend those two months.

Rodney took a look at a tiny basement room that was rented out for so little that he knew he would be able to afford it, but it was so small that he'd not only have to rent out space for his possessions, but that he'd have to spent most of his time in storage going through those items.

He wasn't exactly a fan of the outdoors and sunlight, but being holed up in the dark for two months wasn't tempting in the least. Not to mention that he doubted storage included heating, and winter was coming up.

Another alternative would be to rent out a larger apartment or house. There were two that were quite nice, but the comfort of those homes came with a price tag.

Rodney considered just selling some of his furniture, but parting with what his mother had worked on collecting to make their house a home only for two months of comfort felt wrong to him. And he couldn't bring himself to put them in a pawn shop either. No matter how sure he was that he'd be able to buy them back, he couldn't bear the indignity on his mother's legacy.

He was probably being a spoilt brat. Other people faced much harder decisions. Banks wouldn't even let them in the door, and they didn't have anything left to pawn off. Rodney was well off in comparison. He knew that. But making the adjustment of having no care in the world other than his work to having nothing didn't come as easily as the fact of that situation.

He wanted to hang on to his pride as long as he could. This was _temporary_ and after having depended on other people for far too long, he was going to get a grip on his life without help this time.

Except that he couldn't really have it both ways: Keep all his possessions for proper review _and_ continue with the comforts he was used to.

He weighed his independence against the tiny hole of a room against keeping his mother's legacy. Nothing felt really right to him, and he once again found himself wishing for more time. If only he'd read his letters two months earlier, if only they'd give him those two months longer.... But the time for 'what ifs' was over.

He wished Deirdre was still alive.

She'd have advice, a place to stay and the caring nature to both encourage him and give him the dressing down he feared he needed. He was so focused on his current predicament that he hadn't really thought about the future beyond the next two months. Having her there for that would have been a lifeline.

He still had the card of her grandson along with his offer. Had it been Deirdre herself, he wouldn't have hesitated for a second. It wouldn't have felt like charity coming from her. He would have known that she wouldn't have let him off easy. And he believed that he needed this now. He needed a helping hand that was as strong as it was gentle. And he needed time.

Deciding that of his limited options, Sheppard might come the closest to providing what Rodney needed, Rodney headed out to talk to him again.

~~~~

John was going through a list of wholesale markets in the region when the bell rang. He didn't get a lot of unsolicited visitors. Mostly it was the mail and parcel services, delivering offers and samples that he got now that he was reopening his grandmother's boarding house.

However, this time it was Rodney McKay. Again.

John hadn't been sure he'd come back. He had seemed very disappointed when he'd heard of John's grandmother's death. And even though John had _meant_ it when he'd offered Rodney a place to stay, he'd somehow doubted Rodney would take him up on it.

John had never met him before, but his grandmother had talked about him enough that John had an idea of who he was. Eccentric was probably one of the adjectives coming to mind first. "Smart" his grandmother had called Rodney, but it had that underlying implication of 'too smart for his own good'.

"He's never quite gotten over his family's death," she'd once said. John remembered it clearly, because he'd thought that what she didn't add was 'like you'. He'd been younger when his mother had died than Rodney when his parents had passed away, but it was something that had influenced him and his family in ways that lasted to this very day. He supposed it was similar for Rodney.

It should feel strange to think of him in such familiar terms, as "Rodney". To the world and especially Oakrich, he was Rodney McKay, the man who wrote _Absolute Pressure_ and stayed in his hometown even after he became world famous. But leaving aside the fact that he'd grown up in Canada, John didn't see him as a son of the town so much as one of his grandmother's protégés. He almost felt like a distant cousin that he'd never met, which made it hard to think of him as Mr. McKay.

John was aware, of course, that he didn't actually know the man, just as Rodney only knew what his grandmother had told him about her "Johnny". John wasn't sure if the portrait she'd painted of either of them was entirely accurate, but it still left him with a sense of familiarity with Rodney, which had caused him to make the offer that he never would have considered with a stranger.

"Mr. Sheppard," Rodney said, and before he could continue, John wanted to nip _that_ in the bud.

"Please, call me John," he said. It would feel weird to call the man in front of him anything other than what his grandmother had always called him, and it would be equally weird to call him Rodney, but be addressed as Mr. Sheppard. He still felt weird about hearing his last name without the "Major" attached in front of it. But that was a different matter entirely.

"Uhm, yes, _John_," Rodney said, doing it so explicitly and carefully that John had to smile. "You may recall the offer that you were so generous to make the other day," Rodney continued, dropping his gaze half-way through.

"Sure," John said easily. He wanted to ask if Rodney hadn't found any other place to stay, but his presence here was proof enough of that. "We have more than enough space. When will the moving van arrive?" he asked, trying to make it easy.

Rodney's eyes widened. "No, I...I need to talk to you first. I need to make absolutely sure that we have established some ground rules here. First, I _will_ pay you for your room. I might not be able to pay it right now or even the next month, but I _will_. Second—"

"Maybe we should take this inside," John suggested, interrupting Rodney. He did seem like the kind of person who could talk quite a bit when he got on a roll, and it had gotten colder in the last week.

"Uhm, yes, that might be a good idea," Rodney conceded.

John hesitated for a moment. The most natural place would be the large common room, but none of the non-private rooms were heated at the moment. There was the office and a small kitchen, adjunct to the larger kitchen, but both felt inappropriate. "Let's go upstairs," he suggested, heading up the staircase to what had been his grandmother's private rooms.

It still felt like it was his grandmother's realm, even though he owned it now. It would probably be a while until it would stop feeling like she was only gone for a few days and could come through the door at any moment.

Though maybe Rodney's presence would help with that.

John led them to the old-fashioned living room with its dark red curtains and rosewood furniture. "Please." He gestured for Rodney to sit. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"I'm fine," Rodney said, sitting down on the sofa.

John decided to sit on the armchair that had been his grandmother's. He looked at Rodney who seemed very determined.

"I need to be honest with you," Rodney began. "My once not inconsiderable fortune is _gone_."

John had figured as much. It was seldom a good sign when you suddenly needed a new place to stay.

"I am not proud of having it let come to this," Rodney continued. "But I cannot change what has happened. What I _can_ do is get my life back on track. I just need a bit more time. No more than two months, and I will not allow myself to take more than that. I _insist_ that if I haven't paid you by then you kick me out." He crossed his arms in front of him for emphasis.

"O-kay," John said. Rodney had had fifteen years to spend all his money. John wasn't sure why he was setting such a harsh deadline for himself now, but on the other hand he was glad, because it meant that John didn't have to decide for himself how long he was willing to let Rodney stay. He could of course let him stay indefinitely since he had the room and having such a prominent tenant _might_ be good for business, but on the other hand, he needed to start thinking like a business man and that included not letting sentimental values overrule the basics of finances.

"What are you asking for as rent?" Rodney asked.

"I haven't really set a price yet. I'm still in the process of reviewing the local market, both hotel prices and rent. I'm not even sure yet if I will rent out to long term tenants or people who only stay a few nights or a mix. It's all still very much up in the air," John explained.

"Okay, how about fifteen hundred for the next two months?" Rodney asked.

John blinked. Then he asked, "You want to pay me one and half thousand dollars for the next two months?"

"I'll need a place to store all my things," Rodney said. "My house wasn't exactly _huge_, but that's still five large rooms worth of furniture and paraphernalia, plus there's stuff in the basement and the attic, I think." He added the last as if he wasn't quite sure about it himself.

"Okay. As I said, we have more than enough space here. And yes, fifteen hundred for the next two months seems very reasonable," John said. It was unexpected income, which would give him a bit more time too to think about what he wanted to do with the place. It seemed to be a win-win situation.

"That's good," Rodney said, suddenly smiling very satisfied. He stood up from the couch.

John did the same. "Uh, we can take a look at the rooms. I mean, you've been here before, but it's been a while and you..." John trailed off. He wasn't really sure if Rodney had even seen any of the rooms up close.

"Yes," Rodney admitted, dropping his gaze. "I'm sorry that I never came here anymore."

"No, I didn't mean," John began, because he certainly hadn't meant to make Rodney feel guilty. He himself hadn't visited his grandmother as often as he felt he should have, and Rodney wasn't even related to her. "You've had your reasons, and...it's really none of my business anyway." John cringed.

One corner of Rodney's mouth moved down in a very sad way. "Your grandmother was a great woman," he said.

"I know," John quickly said. "And she thought very highly of you. She didn't blame you for, uh, not stopping by as often."

It was the truth. "He lives in a world of his own," she'd muttered on one of John's last visits, looking at the picture of her and Rodney that still hung in the common room. And her inflection hadn't been accusatory, but rather mournful.

John looked at Rodney and gave him a quick awkward smile, before walking towards the door that separated the private rooms from the floor of guest rooms.

~~

Even as he showed Rodney the unoccupied guest rooms, John felt the chill that the late fall temperatures caused in the unheated area of the building.

"You can use any of these as storage, and we do have a real storage room that's half empty. There's also some place in the basement, though I'm not sure I'd recommend storing expensive furniture or delicate things there," John said, thinking of the less than stellar condition.

"It might be easier to keep the furniture on the ground floor. I'll move it out again as soon as I've decided..." Rodney trailed off for a moment. "Well, where and how I'll live," he finished.

"There's no hurry," John said. "I'd really thought about an early spring reopening at the earliest."

"Two months," Rodney said, lifting his finger sternly.

"I'll kick you out myself," John said solemnly, then grinned.

Rodney frowned, but then his mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. "I'm not joking, you know. I don't want charity. Okay, that's...I suppose you could see this as charity, and if I wasn't attached to occasional bouts of sunshine in the next two months, I wouldn't have taken it."

"How does staying here change the weather?" John asked, not following.

"Of course, it doesn't change the weather," Rodney said, the _idiot_ strongly implied. "But the only realistic alternative in my situation without having to rely on outside help or selling things would have been a little basement room in combination with storage. Both of which wouldn't have provided a whole lot of sunlight."

John wasn't going to point out the conditions under which he himself had lived for a lot longer than just two months on end when he'd been deployed all over the world. It would only cause awkwardness, and considering Rodney's life until now, John was pretty sure he'd win a who's-life-sucked-more contest hands down anyway, and all things considered they were _both_ still very privileged. But this wasn't about this. It wasn't about whether Rodney deserved a roof over his head without making sacrifices. This was about helping out someone who'd been considered a friend by his grandmother.

Rodney looked contrite. "You must think I'm horrible," he suddenly said, as if John _had_ pointed out his own life. It turned out that Rodney wasn't as oblivious as his grandmother had made him out to be. "You were in the Army, right?"

"Air Force," John automatically corrected.

"And not just a nice little _safe_ office, but you were actually stationed abroad in war zones," Rodney said, looking horrified by the mere idea.

John only shrugged. He didn't really want to talk about it.

"And here I am going on about how unbearable staying in a small room for _two months_ would be for me," Rodney said. He really did seem to feel pretty bad about it.

"Hey, I like sunlight too," John said lightly, giving Rodney a shoulder bump.

"You like sunlight too," Rodney said tonelessly, staring at him.

"Sunlight is good for you," John pointed out.

Rodney shook his head, but a wide smile formed on his face. "I could talk about the risks of cancer and other skin conditions, but I'll just appreciate your indulgence in my entitlement. As long as you won't forget the two months limit."

"I will," John promised.

"Speaking of entitlement, however. It's pretty cold in here, isn't it?" Rodney asked carefully.

John snorted. "The heating's not on. I didn't want to waste any money on that. We could start heating one of the rooms or...My grandmother's room is empty, so—"

"Absolutely not!" Rodney protested before John had even finished.

"It's heated," John pointed out.

"But I couldn't— Where are _you_ staying?" Rodney asked, eyes narrowing.

John flushed slightly. "Uhm. Honestly? I'm living in my grandmother's guest room right now."

"Ha!" Rodney said triumphantly. "Even _you_ don't feel comfortable taking Deirdre's room. Why should I?"

"Well, I can't preserve it forever and it would only _waste money_ to heat a room, when there's one available that's already heated," John said, trying to appeal to Rodney's new-found sense of financial responsibility. When that didn't seem to work, he added, "Plus, her guest room was _always_ my room. My books and pictures and even a trophy is in there. It would feel weird to stay anywhere else."

Rodney seemed to consider it.

"She'd want it that way," John added, though he wasn't really sure. Actually, he was pretty certain that she would have told him the very first day he arrived, 'Johnny, just get over yourself and move your stuff into the master bedroom. It's _yours_ now. Act like it!' However, he thought she'd forgive him the little white lie if it got Rodney to move in there. It would make John feel a whole lot more comfortable with finally taking over the room once Rodney had left.

"If you're _really_ su—"

"Yes!" John quickly said. He tugged on Rodney's sleeve and they walked back down the hall to his grandmother's—_his_—rooms.

~~

An hour later, John found himself pushing furniture out of the way in the common room. It would be the first stop for Rodney's furniture and other stuff.

Rodney had made it sound like there would be truckloads, though John hoped that once packaged it wouldn't take quite as much space.

Rodney had called a young man named Pete who apparently went shopping for him usually. At least, that was what John surmised when Rodney gave him some money for the last purchases he'd made.

It was interesting to watch Rodney interact with other people. John knew from his grandmother that he wasn't exactly a people person. He'd lived secluded in his house, had no family and apparently also no friends. But while Rodney had been at times painfully honest with him, John hadn't found him too strange.

"Ah, Pete. I'll have to move out of my house, and _this_ is where I'll be staying for the next two months," Rodney had told the young man.

"Okay," Pete had said, apparently not wondering about how this had come about.

"You have a driver's license, right? And maybe some friends from school who also do?" Rodney had asked.

Pete had looked at him for a moment. "I graduated two years ago, Mr. McKay."

John had only just managed not to burst out in laughter.

"That's...good. Congratulations," Rodney had said. "But you do have friends who have a driver's license? And a car? Because I'd like you to help me moving my things here."

"I could ask my father if I could get his van," Pete had said.

"We have one too," John had pointed out. It was old and pretty beat up, but it would allow them fewer trips back and forth.

They'd left Saint Brigid shortly after that, and while Rodney was off organizing everything, John prepared the house for the new arrival.

He felt oddly excited about it. He'd been here for two months now and the emptiness of the many rooms had grated on him. It was such a contrast to the lively debates that he remembered from when he was a child and his mother had brought him and later his brother on frequent visits.

It was those memories that had made him decide to resign rather than be sent to Antarctica. He'd fought his brother who had wanted to sell the building after their grandmother had died, but he also knew that he couldn't just let it stand empty forever until it would break down.

So, he'd bought off Dave's share of the property and had become the sole owner of Saint Brigid and moved here to see what needed to be done to restore it to life.

He knew that it wouldn't be easy, and he was no experienced business man, despite being a Sheppard. But he was determined to do this right, with the goal that once again, people would call this boarding house their home.

Rodney was a tiny start to that, and even if it would only be for two months, as Rodney never stopped to remind him, it made John almost giddy that soon, he and Saint Brigid would have their very first temporary tenant.

~~

Rodney was almost done packing up everything in the bedroom. They'd begun with the basement and attic, simply carrying everything out to Saint Brigid's van. He'd called over Ms. Jefferson to help them and soon some friends of Pete had arrived too.

While Pete had driven the first load of boxes back to Saint Brigid, Rodney had started packing up the things from the living room, which had become his study as well over the years.

As he had started picking up old books though, his mind had gone off, remembering something. Ms. Jefferson had found him reading instead of packing, so they decided it would be better if he packed up things that held no interest for him, so he'd gone to clean out the bathroom and then his bedroom.

The day had gone on, rooms emptying until they were just four walls and windows. Rodney wasn't sure when each room stopped being what he had called home for the last twenty-one years.

But with the last box packed, the bedroom seemed to be nothing more than an empty room. He still remembered of course. It had always been his mother's room, even long after she'd died and Rodney had moved here.

His mother had died in this room. He and his father had been with her. He thought of that day, clouded but without rain. In the end, she'd just closed her eyes and stopped breathing. And now as then, Rodney's mind drifted away from his mother to the lifeless broken body of his sister.

He'd been there when she died too. He hadn't seen the crash, but he'd heard it, the screeching of the tires and the dull thud. Red. Everything had turned as red as Jeannie's bright jacket.

"Rodney?"

Rodney blinked, shaking himself out of his memories, and turned to Ms. Jefferson.

"It's getting late," she said, smiling at him. "I was going to make a quick dinner for everyone before we finish this."

Rodney nodded. "Good idea."

He carried down the box and placed it inside the van, then started going through all rooms from top to bottom. Most were empty. There were a few things left in the living room and they'd left the kitchen table and chairs for dinner, but otherwise everything was gone.

Ms. Jefferson called him for dinner, but he was just packing up the last things in the living room and waved her off, telling her that she and the others should go ahead and eat. She looked as if she might protest but in the end didn't.

Soon after dinner, they'd moved the last furniture from the kitchen into the van and put in the last boxes.

He paid Pete and his friends. Ms. Jefferson refused to take any money. "Take good care of yourself," she told him and then hugged him.

"I will," he said, hugging her back.

"And _eat_ something," she added, before walking away.

Rodney only waved at her. Then he got into the van next to Pete. Pete drove them back to Saint Brigid. They'd have to carry the things inside, but it had been a long day and he didn't exactly need the things in the van and John hadn't sounded like he'd need it soon either, so Rodney simply said goodbye to Pete too.

"Let me know if you need someone to go shopping for you or anything else," Pete said.

Rodney had no idea if he'd be in the position to pay for such things again, but he nodded anyway, before entering the doors of his new home.

~~

The entry hall of Saint Brigid was surprisingly empty with only a few stray boxes and a chair standing around. John was nowhere in sight, but Rodney could see that most of his stuff had been carried into the large common room.

Entering it, Rodney felt guilty for turning the beautiful lounge into a storage room. Boxes over boxes were piled wherever there was space. The tables, sofas and chairs had been pushed aside to make room for Rodney's furniture. He feared that he'd have to call Pete sooner rather than later if John actually wanted to use the room for its intended purpose.

Suddenly, John's head shot up behind one of the boxes, making Rodney jump in shock.

As Rodney caught his breath, John smiled playfully at him, walking around the boxes to come closer. Rodney found himself reminded of Lisa, his last girlfriend. She'd smiled at him like this sometimes, until, like everyone else in his life, she'd just disappeared at some point.

"Are you hungry?" John asked him.

Rodney considered it. He hadn't really thought about food. Before he could make up his mind, his stomach answered for him.

John laughed. "I guess that's a yes." He walked past Rodney, but then turned to him again. "Plus, Ms. Jefferson called to tell me to make sure you eat something."

"No citrus," Rodney said. "I'm deathly—"

"—allergic to citrus. She mentioned that. She also said that you're not picky, so I hope my vegetable lasagna will be all right with you."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Rodney said, following John out to the kitchen.

John took care of the lasagna while Rodney set the table. Rodney couldn't recall ever having been to this room. It was the private kitchen, but as far as he could remember Deirdre had never used it, rather eating with her guests in the large dining room.

It was small and rather cozy here when compared to the grandeur of the large common room and dining room, which were fit to serve kings, though the highest office ever to stay here was the then Governor of Virginia before Rodney had moved to Oakrich.

Deirdre had managed to fill even those large pompous rooms with sparks of life that invited the kind of debate or the steps of running children that would normally feel out of place in such interiors. But this was nice too. The kitchen had a homely feel to it, and John puttering around with the lasagna only added to the domesticity of it.

Rodney couldn't remember having felt that at home. Before Jeannie's death his parents had fought a lot and afterwards, his mother had soon gotten too sick, making any chore so much of a challenge that it couldn't be seen as domestic.

Ms. Jefferson had eventually taken over, but it wasn't the same.

John put the lasagne on the table, and they began eating. It didn't taste bad and after the stress of the day, Rodney dug in heartily.

"She told me to take care of you," John said, smiling fondly.

Rodney frowned, but then realized he had to mean Ms. Jefferson. "Yes, I suppose. I seem to bring that out in them," he said, thinking about Mrs. Winters and Deirdre. "Though even back then I was old enough to take care of myself." Well, apart from the money apparently.

"It has nothing to do with age. I'm not sure I want to remember for how long my cheek was pinched by _everyone_," John said with a sigh.

Rodney could imagine that only too well. "I'm sure you were a cute kid."

John squirmed a bit in his chair, but didn't say anything.

"Did we ever meet?" Rodney asked, suddenly curious. He was almost certain that Deirdre would have made a big fuss of introducing them, and he couldn't recall that, but over the years he'd met dozens and dozens of people of all ages in Saint Brigid, so he wasn't one hundred percent certain.

"No," John said. "I mostly came here with my mother, and she was dead by that time."

Rodney nodded. Deirdre had talked about her daughter every now and then. And he'd seen pictures of her. "My sister died," he said.

John only looked at him. He didn't seem surprised.

"You knew?" Rodney asked. It was in his biography, of course, not to mention that Deirdre might have mentioned it.

"Yeah," John confirmed.

"It's strange. We haven't met until a few days ago, but we still know quite a bit about each other. Makes getting to know each other a bit challenging," Rodney said.

"No, I...Yes, I suppose you're right, but I think we should just ignore what we might or might not know about each other. I'm not sure how reliable my grandmother was in her stories," John said with a small smile.

Rodney thought about how Deirdre had gushed about her eldest grandson. "So what would you say is the biggest exaggeration about 'Johnny'?"

John snorted. Then he seemed to contemplate Rodney's question. "Did she tell you I was a hero?" he eventually asked. A certain amount of sadness and weariness swung in his words as if he knew that whatever Deirdre had told Rodney about his soldier's life wouldn't come close to the real terrors.

Rodney didn't think that Deirdre ever called him a hero. She was obviously proud of him, but she'd also worried. Overall Rodney felt she'd been pragmatic about it as she'd been about everything in life. "She said you saved lives," he told John eventually, because that was the closest to calling him a hero she'd come.

"I also took them," John said, his gaze faraway and his mind probably in a different place at a different time.

Rodney suddenly thought of his research and how John would be able to give him very interesting insights into a soldier's life. Then he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. He shouldn't think about his research now. Concentrating on nothing else had led him into this mess. He had to distance himself from the mindset that he could dedicate as much time as he needed to research his second book.

He knew that it would be a challenge. He dreaded the next two months when he couldn't simply avoid his materials and with them temptation. Having to go through his old things was bad enough. He certainly didn't need anything new to sink his teeth into.

Not to mention that it was obvious that John didn't want to talk about his past. Who would want to relive such experiences? Rodney chided himself for even thinking about this when his first thoughts probably should have been compassion for what John had gone through.

Sometimes Rodney felt that he just wasn't very good at being a human. He tried to think of something that would make John think of better times. "I think your grandmother never stopped seeing the boy in you, the one whose cheek she could pinch," he said.

A weak smile appeared on John's face, and he looked at Rodney. "Probably," he admitted. "I suppose I can be glad I had a younger brother. If for nothing else, he sure was good for replacing me as a pinching target," John said with a grin. Then suddenly his face fell. "I didn't.... I wasn't serious, of course. Your sister.... I didn't want to say that my brother doesn't mean..."

"It's okay," Rodney rescued him. He remembered how he'd felt about Jeannie before she'd died. Little siblings could be a pain. And John seemed to be as bad with people as Rodney it appeared.

He smiled weakly at Rodney. "Let's just talk about something else," he said, continuing to eat.

Rodney did the same, thinking about a suitable subject, but coming up short. He wasn't interested in any general topics outside of his research. He hated sports, wasn't up to date on current events and the weather was completely ordinary for the time of year. Talking about their childhoods had the connotation of his dead sister. John's job as a soldier was out too and Rodney knew better than to start talking about his research.

He tried to remember things Deirdre had told him about John that didn't involve sports or veiled comments that he had a hard time dealing with his mother's death. There'd been talk of marriage if he recalled correctly, but he also remembered that Deirdre hadn't thought it had been the right decision for John, and since there was no sign of a wife or a wedding ring, Rodney could only assume that Deirdre had been right and John had either never gone through with the marriage or gotten a divorce. Either way it certainly wasn't a good casual topic.

"Okay, I give up," Rodney eventually said. "Despite the fact that we're two handsome, smart men in the best age, our lives thus far seem to have been such that we'd rather not talk about it."

John looked at him for a moment, then he said deadpan, "You think I'm handsome?"

Rodney knew that John was probably only diverting attention away from the sorry state of their lives, but there was still something in John's eyes. "Fishing for compliments?" Rodney asked, lowering his voice just a bit and raising an eyebrow at John in challenge.

John's flush told him that he'd been right. It had been years since Rodney was last with a guy. He'd had a casual relationship in college and a few one-night-stands after that, but for the last couple of years there'd been nothing but his own hands. He was intrigued by John's sexual orientation though, given his previous occupation. This probably wasn't anything that he should ask, but Rodney had almost never given a damn about what others thought he should or shouldn't say.

"Is that why you left the Air Force?" he asked.

John didn't say anything, but he looked caught.

"You're divorced, right?" Rodney pressed on. "It's okay. I won't judge," he added, just in case John worried. He wished it wasn't so, but the reality was that there were enough people in the world, including rural Virginia, who _would_ reduce him to nothing but not being straight to deem him unworthy of just about anything. "I'm bisexual," Rodney continued, to make really certain that John knew he understood at least on some level.

John only stared at him for a long moment. Then he seemed to pull himself together. "I'm just so used to hiding it," he tried to explain.

"I can imagine," Rodney said.

"But to answer your question, I didn't leave the Air Force because I'm...gay," John said, hesitating long enough for Rodney to wonder if he'd ever said it out loud before. "I was...faced with a different deployment or the chance to leave, and since Saint Brigid had stood empty for some time and I didn't want to see it torn down or withering, I decided to leave and bought my brother's share."

"How much do you know about running a boarding house?" Rodney asked.

"Only what my grandmother told me, which wasn't much since I don't think she ever believed there was a chance I'd take over from her. I've bought books, but it's going to be challenging."

"What do you still need to look into?" Rodney asked. His own research was something best avoided at the moment, but he was curious about what John had found out and still needed to find out to restore Saint Brigid to its previous glory.

So, as it turned out, there was something they could talk about after all.

~~

John lay in his narrow bed, unable to sleep. Talking about his plans, vague as they were in part, had felt good. It made him realize how much he wanted to do this or at least try. Rodney's questions and the fact that he could either answer them or had them on his to-do list made him believe that he was on the right track.

However it wasn't thoughts of Saint Brigid's future that kept him up at night.

John couldn't get over how easily Rodney had talked about his sexual orientation. Both of their sexual orientations in fact. Maybe it was simply that he hadn't been prepared to answer such questions. Though it hadn't been a question really. After his rather innocent quip, Rodney simply seemed to have known.

And in that first moment, John had felt panic rise in him, that he'd been found out. Strangely enough, since he left the Air Force, he hadn't really thought about the fact that he could be open about being gay now. Most of the time had been spent dealing with buying out his brother and avoiding his father in the process.

He'd managed that quite well. The only contact had been when his father had called him to make sure John knew how disappointed he was that John refused to work in the family business and chose to run a boarding house in "Nowhere, Virginia" which wouldn't turn a profit if it sat on a gold mine.

John hadn't even tried to tell him that not everything in life was about money. He knew that running Saint Brigid wasn't going to make him rich. But if it kept him warm and fed and provided a home to a few people, he'd be happy.

John had hung up before his father could talk about Nancy. His father was very selective about reality. Up until the day of her death, he'd insisted that John's mother would be fine. And he'd always refused to acknowledge that his son was gay, telling John that he wasn't trying hard enough and with the right woman his "strange attractions" would go away.

For far too long John had believed him. He'd tried to date women, he'd even married one. He didn't think his father had ever been prouder of him than on his wedding day. Of course, it hadn't lasted very long. Patrick Sheppard had a way of always reminding him that he was disappointed in his choices. Though he made it seem like even more than that. He made it seem as if John was doing everything he did just to spite his father. Which was only true in a small part.

But growing up in that household and then being in the Air Force, John must have developed an instinctual need to hide his sexual orientation. It had become such a normal part of his life that his brain apparently hadn't caught up yet with the fact that it was okay now.

"Okay" was a relative term of course. This was still a small town in Virginia. He remembered how some people had looked down on his grandmother, for her past, for her liberal views, for not caring about what people said about her.

She had once told John, "It's okay to be gay." The statement had come after one of her guests had fought with her about homosexuals and how they would destroy the nation, leaving John—then a teenager—feeling extremely uncomfortable. He hadn't admitted to himself that he was attracted to guys back then, even though there'd been pretty obvious incidents of just that.

Instead of taking comfort in his grandmother's words, he'd felt awkward about them. And even years later, when he could no longer deny that he had those feelings because he'd acted on them, he'd never come out to his grandmother. He'd still tried to fight it back then, clinging to bisexuality at least, because then he would still be able to find the right woman, to get married and have a family, to do at least something right in his father's eyes.

"She loves me and Dad loves _her_," John had said when his grandmother had asked him if he was sure about marrying Nancy.

"What about you? Do _you_ love her?" she'd asked.

He'd never answered that question, but he'd still gone ahead and married Nancy, trying to live the 'normal' life. A year later they'd divorced and his grandmother had had a knowing look, but hadn't said anything.

John never came out to her, even after he finally made peace with the fact that he was gay and there was no right woman out there for him. It had been a gradual acceptance, and in the end it hadn't really changed his life because he was still in the Air Force, still not ready to risk his career for being with a guy, and still bad at relationships in general. So his sexual orientation had never found expression outside of hasty encounters in bars or clubs.

John had no idea what it would be like to be in a relationship with a guy, if it would be completely different or essentially the same from his relationships with women. And despite his age and the fact that he was only now free to actually have such a relationship, he didn't feel tempted to enter one.

Even if he was, he didn't know how on Earth he'd go about even finding another gay guy in the vicinity. He sincerely doubted there was a gay club or gay _anything_ in Oakrich.

There was Rodney, of course.

John would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a bit attracted to him. He hadn't been consciously aware of it before, other than the diffuse feeling of familiarity through his grandmother and that he simply _liked_ Rodney. But looking at him in this new light, he had to admit that Rodney's blue eyes and his nice ass in combination with his off-beat humor and intelligence did stir certain feelings in him.

John's masturbation fantasies were usually vague, at least as far as the faces of his partners went. But this night, as he lay in bed, unable to sleep, contemplating the sexual freedom that he now had, it was Rodney's face that approached him, downstairs in the kitchen after they'd eaten. When normally he jumped right into imagining two naked bodies, he pictured Rodney pulling John's face close to kiss him, as self-confident as he'd been about his sexual orientation.

A thrill shot through John as he imagined the two of them making out, hands roaming over their bodies, first on top of their clothes, then sliding beneath onto skin. He pushed down his tightening boxers, freeing his hardening cock as he continued to imagine them. Taking his cock in hand, John pictured Rodney rubbing against him, clothes pushed aside. Rodney would take John's cock in his expressive hands, kiss his neck, tease his nipples. It was so easy to imagine Rodney finding all of his buttons and pushing them one after another until he could only weakly lean against the counter because his legs wouldn't quite be able to hold him up.

When Rodney dropped to his knees in his fantasy and opened his mouth wide, John lifted his hips, thrusting into his fist. He quickly jerked himself off until he came in Rodney's mouth, in his fist, panting, exhausted, hopefully finally able to sleep.

He wiped off his hands and stomach with a tissue, pulling his boxers back on and curling up to sleep. He wasn't sure if what he'd just done was a good idea. Their lives were challenging enough at the moment without making their relationship awkward. Not that a little masturbation fantasy had to mean anything. He was attracted to Rodney, yes, but it was hard to imagine his fantasy coming to life.

Rodney seemed so out of touch with people that the idea of having a relationship with him seemed ridiculous. Watching Rodney with Pete, only then realizing that the young man had graduated two years before, had been amusing. The fact that he apparently had no idea that Ms. Jefferson saw him as something of a surrogate son—something which took John about ten seconds to realize—was more sad than funny though.

It was as if Rodney couldn't really relate to humans. John had to wonder who the last person was that he'd really cared about. Maybe his parents, whom he'd lost in quick succession. John tried not to think about the death of his mother. Death could change you. John wasn't about to judge Rodney for that.

But he also wasn't about to get involved with someone who didn't look like he could return someone's feelings.

And then there was the fact that John really wasn't sure if he himself was capable of being in love.

He drifted off to sleep.

~~

Rodney had to try really hard not to fall into his research modus operandi when he started going through his things the next day. Every book brought back memories of the topic he'd delved into when he'd read it, but he forced himself to only _sort_ everything into the different topics of interest and to maybe evaluate both the worth of the item when trying to sell it and to himself.

Despite being lured by the knowledge hiding in the objects, he managed to weed out a few things within a few days. He went to Mrs. Winters, but she regretfully informed him that she wouldn't be able to buy back the books.

Rodney didn't hold it against her. She ran a little antique bookstore, and he half suspected that her reasons for doing so were mostly boredom. He was sure that he had been by far her biggest customer and after having lost the steady stream of income from him for the moment, it would be foolish of her to spent money on books that she wouldn't be able to sell at a profit if at all.

She did, however give him the name of a bookstore in Richmond, which _might_ buy his books.

Rodney called them and they made him an offer. It was only for the fraction of the money he'd spent on the books, but since these books had made it onto his "sell" list so quickly because they were horribly outdated or written by complete idiots, he hadn't expected to get his money back.

He drove to Richmond with John, who said he'd wanted to go there anyway when Rodney mentioned he would borrow Ms. Jefferson's car. Rodney wasn't sure if John was just trying to be nice again, which seemed to be a thing of his, but since he couldn't prove that John was lying, he went along with it. On the way they talked about Buddhist stupas in Afghanistan and Knight Rider.

Back at Saint Brigid, Rodney used the money he'd earned to pay John for the food he'd provided for the last two days and seemed willing to provide for the duration of the two months.

"That's really not necessary," John said predictably.

"Yes, it is," Rodney insisted. He was aware that he was probably violating some hospitality etiquette here, but right now he felt the need to take financial responsibility for himself.

"All right," John said, grudgingly taking the money.

They started eating lunch after that, and Rodney wondered for the first time if the success of _Absolute Pressure_ may have been more curse than blessing.

"For Jeannie" the dedication read, but it was much more than just dedicated to his dead sister. It was _her_ book in so many other ways, and Rodney felt that maybe he shouldn't have taken the money that had allowed him to lose the grip on his life in such a way. He could have donated it to a worthy cause instead and really tried to write a second book that would feel like his own.

The one valid criticism of the book he'd written in Jeannie's memory had been the slightly slipshod world building. Everything else he'd managed to dismiss as coming from someone who had no idea what they were talking about, who had no taste or who was jealous. But _that_ had struck a chord in him, and he'd found himself driven to correct it in his second book. And the money had made it easy for him to do that in excess, forgetting everything else over it.

The need to get it right this time had been too big. For the world, for his parents, but most of all for Jeannie.

"Rodney?"

Rodney looked up at John, who seemed a bit worried. "I started writing because of my sister," Rodney said as if John had asked what was on his mind. "I didn't really spend a lot of time with her before her death. At least not voluntarily. She was eight years younger and you know how it is." He looked at John, hoping he'd understand.

John didn't say anything for a moment. "My brother is three years younger."

"That's a much smaller gap," Rodney said. He waited for John to say something because he looked like something was on his mind.

John opened his mouth and closed it again before finally speaking. "Dave was at boarding school at the time. They wanted to send me too, but I refused to go." That was all he said before dropping his gaze.

Rodney didn't have to ask what "at the time" meant. He tried to imagine a teenage John, refusing to leave the home in which his mother was dying. It felt like another piece in the large puzzle that was John Sheppard. "She was just a kid," Rodney continued, "but after her death, I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to know about her feelings and thoughts, so I started reading her diary. It turned out that her entries were like stories, detailing events that never happened or that had happened, but didn't happen like that. 'My brother and I...' the stories would begin, and then she'd tell her diary about an adventure that her brother only accompanied her on in her mind."

John put down his fork and looked at him, listening with a clenched jaw.

"My parents couldn't deal with her death. Maybe none of us really did. Before Jeannie's death they fought a lot. They'd spent whole evenings shouting at each other. But after Jeannie died, there was only silence. I don't think I've heard either of them ever raising their voice again for the rest of their lives." Rodney tried to remember such an instance but he couldn't. "We moved here, where my mother grew up—well, not Oakrich directly, but since her family was dead, it didn't matter so much to her as long as it was 'home'. And I started writing my own continuation of the adventures of Jeannie and Meredith McKay."

"Meredith?" John asked, surprised.

"Uhm, yes, that's my given name. Rodney is my second name. And I go by that for a reason." Rodney added the last with a warning because John was the kind of person who'd tease him about it mercilessly. Though right now he looked as serious as Rodney had ever seen him.

John didn't say anything, so Rodney continued.

"'My sister and I' my stories began, and I read them to my mother, and she loved them. She encouraged me to write and was very happy when I decided to get my English Major. My father wasn't happy about it. I think he wanted me to become an astrophysicist like he was but by that time, he never challenged anything my mother said. I think at that point she could have said, let's take a stroll through highway traffic, and he'd have gone along with it. He was really just a shell of the person he used to be. My mother died shortly after the book came out, my dad a year later, but really...I think they died the day Jeannie died."

Rodney wasn't sure how long he was lost in his memories but at some point his gaze focused back on John, who looked _stricken_. Rodney was a bit surprised by that. He was even more surprised when he realized that his own cheeks were wet.

"Oh," he said, dabbing at his eyes with his hands and sleeve. He hadn't meant to break down in tears in front of John. He couldn't even remember when he'd last cried. "Sorry about that," he said.

John's eyes looked a bit more shiny as well. Rodney felt guilty.

"When I wrote _Absolute Pressure_ it was in the spirit of my sister's stories," he continued, both to finish his story and to distract John from thinking about death. "Everyone loved it. The only thing about it that wasn't perfect was the world building. So I tried to work on that."

"Your research?" John asked, sounding a bit weak.

Rodney nodded. He knew what John was thinking. Fifteen years to research a book? "I thought I had the time," he offered in explanation.

"How much time did you think you'd need?" John asked.

"I didn't think about it at all," Rodney admitted.

"Didn't you...Wasn't there a list of specific things that you needed to research for your story?" John asked.

Rodney didn't answer. Answering would mean admitting that he had no story. Although it was high time to admit that. Jerry had known this. Most literary critics probably knew it. Maybe everyone knew it except Rodney, who hadn't wanted to see it. "I don't have a story."

John's mouth opened but he closed it again, obviously not understanding.

"I started with things I could have used for _Absolute Pressure_ and went from there, reading about anything that might be of interest for any type of book I could imagine. Society, culture, history, science, geography. I thought the more I knew, the more I'd have to draw from when I'd finally begin."

"But you never began," John said, understanding dawning.

Rodney shook his head. He'd never begun. He'd never even thought about beginning. Any story idea he'd had in the last fifteen years, he'd quickly dismissed because then he would have had to start writing. He would have had to put all the years of research into one work and it would have had to be perfect. And even if it would have been, even if the book he wrote would have been the best work ever written by a human, it still wouldn't have been enough. "It wouldn't have brought them back," he said, tears starting to run down his face again as he realized why he never ever would have written a second book.

He remembered his earlier words about his parents, that they'd died with Jeannie. Now he had to wonder if he had died with her too. If he'd just been biding his time here on Earth. He shook his head. No. His mother wouldn't have wanted that. _Jeannie_ wouldn't have wanted that. He was thirty-six years old. He had his whole life ahead of him. If he dared to actually live it.

Rodney lost track of time then, but at some point, John shook his shoulder and pointed at the plate in front of him, where the food that had gotten cold was now reheated.

"You should eat," John said, taking his seat opposite Rodney and digging into his own reheated food.

Rodney nodded and started eating. He'd given himself two months to regroup and re-evaluate his life. In the end it had only taken two days. But he had the feeling that the hard part was still ahead of him.

~~

After lunch, John made a tea for Rodney and put him to bed to take a nap. Then he went to his room where he had the feeling his own breakdown wasn't far off.

John was completely out of his depth.

His father had instilled the rule that you didn't talk about your feelings from the moment John's mother had gotten sick. Not in words, but leading by example. And John had not only followed it but taken it to another level. Not only didn't he _talk_ about his feelings, he didn't _think_ about them.

He'd built a life where he didn't have to deal with his own feelings or that of others. After Nancy, he hadn't let anyone close enough to make it necessary.

Then in waltzed Rodney with his disjointed understanding or maybe just inability to adhere to what was appropriate, someone who didn't seem to be able to connect to other people normally, only to tear down every wall that John had erected around himself.

John could not for the life of him understand how anyone could talk about the things Rodney had told him today with even closest friends or family, let alone a stranger. He hadn't been prepared, and he had no defense against it.

When Rodney had started crying, John had to fight against doing the same. In that moment, he'd simultaneously wanted to pull Rodney in his arms and never let go again and to run away as fast and as far as he could.

Rodney's honesty was shattering John. To see a house of lies, carefully constructed over decades fall apart in front of his eyes, to see _Rodney_ doing it himself, so freely, so without fear, terrified John.

Because he knew the lies. When Rodney got a far away look, thinking about his dead parents and his dead sister, John saw the pale body of his mother, laid out in a coffin, still beautiful, but robbed of everything that had made her who she was.

For twenty years, he'd tried to forget and to pretend that it didn't matter. He couldn't change what had happened. He couldn't bring her back, so what use would it be to think about it?

He thought about his father and his brother. There'd been a time when his father had smiled not just for his business partners. He didn't know how much Dave remembered of their mother. They'd never talked about it. She'd just been gone from one day to the next, and John had been left with a new life and a hole in his heart where she had been.

He hadn't cried at the funeral. He'd tried to be as responsible as his father, to be a man. But twenty years later, here he was, and she was still dead, and he had no idea how to deal with that.

His mother had left him when he would have needed her the most. She'd taken his father's heart with her. His brother had been sent away, and John had been left alone.

And he'd been alone ever since.

Looking back at his life since the day she died, John could see _no one_ who'd come close to filling that void because he hadn't let them. Because letting them close would mean risking his heart again. Letting someone in would mean that he might wake up again one day with his heart ripped out and no way to deal with it.

He couldn't face that again. He'd preferred to keep his brother, his wife and even his beloved grandmother at arm's length. To be all right. To be safe. To not hurt.

But the truth was that it had never stopped hurting. John felt completely numb from it, but it just wouldn't fucking stop hurting. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear down the books his grandmother and mother had read to him. But he couldn't, because he wasn't supposed to and it would be useless. Everything would be useless. There was nothing he could do because no matter what he did, she would still be gone.

John crumpled down on the ground then and started sobbing. He hated this. He hated his mother for doing this to him. And he missed her so goddamn much. He cradled his face in his arms, still needing to hide the tears that were flowing freely. When would it finally stop hurting?

He didn't know how long he cried. He was lost in his pain, and he only noticed that he wasn't alone any longer when big arms wrapped around him.

John tried to struggle, ashamed and angry that someone would witness him when he was so vulnerable, but Rodney didn't let him go, and John no longer had the fight in him. He put his arms around Rodney and held on and cried.

Rodney cradled him in his arms, rocking him back and forth and making soothing noises into his hair. John let it happen, gradually calming down until desperation was taken over by embarrassment. He kept his face buried in Rodney's neck, because pulling back would mean that he'd have to face him.

He stopped crying and his breath evened out. The pain he'd felt so acutely was replaced by a dull ache. He still didn't want to let go and face what came next.

Eventually though, Rodney said, "Not to make this all about me, but my knees are killing me."

John had to snort. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. God, he was probably a mess. He carefully pulled away, not looking at Rodney.

Rodney sat down next to him, back against the bed, stretching out his feet.

John dared a quick glance over to him and saw that he'd been crying again too. "We're so fucked up," he said.

"Hey, speak for yourself!" Rodney protested. "I might have fucked up the last fifteen years of my life, but it's stopping _now_."

John didn't know from where he took his confidence. Rodney was looking at him expectantly. John averted his gaze, but Rodney wouldn't let him. He took John's face and turned it back until John was looking at him again.

"We can make it better," he said in an unwavering voice, looking straight at John.

And strangely enough, John believed him.

~~

Rodney quietly closed the door to the master bedroom. John had gone to the bathroom to splash some water in his face, and just like he had done for Rodney earlier, Rodney had then told him to take a rest. He'd also told him to take the bed in his grandmother's room, _his_ room now, and John had only protested a bit.

Rodney didn't believe in divine intervention. His sister's death had done nothing to endear God to him, but there was something about the way he and John had come together that felt a lot like fate.

Whatever the reasons, he was grateful. He felt calm and hopeful for the future, and even though he wouldn't call himself a naturally caring person, he wanted that for John too. It had been surprisingly easy to pull him into his arms. He couldn't remember when he'd last genuinely cared about another person.

He'd loved his parents, but by the time they'd died, Rodney had given up on them. He'd accepted their fate. It had been the same with Lisa, who'd one day told him, "Rodney we can't go on like this." He'd only nodded and let her go. He'd stopped visiting Deirdre, letting her slip from his life like everyone else. He hadn't allowed himself to care enough about anyone not to let them go.

But when John had pushed him away, he hadn't let him. Of course, none of the others had needed Rodney when they left him. And John so obviously needed someone. That it was Rodney whom he needed was unexpected for _both_ of them, but it couldn't be changed.

Rodney was willing to take up the challenge. Maybe this was what he'd needed all along: someone who needed _him_.

~~

It took a moment after John woke up that he remembered what had happened. God, he'd really broken down in his room and then cried in Rodney's arms, hadn't he? Unfortunately the memories of it were too clear not to be true. John felt embarrassed.

He also felt uncertain. Rodney seemed to be very certain that things would turn out for the better for both of them, but John wasn't so sure. The fact that he was completely fucked up might not have been as apparent to him before, but it didn't come as a _huge_ surprise.

Unfortunately, all the things that he could think of to deal with it, whether facing his father or beginning therapy didn't sound inviting at all. He really just wanted to hide under the blanket for as long as he could.

He felt safe here. It was his grandmother's bed, and sometimes, when he was still very young, he'd lain here with her, and she'd read stories to him or just told him about her life as a young girl in Ireland.

John buried his face in the pillow. It smelled faintly of Rodney. Something stirred in him at the thought of being in bed with Rodney. It was probably only the extreme circumstances of the last few hours, but John had the feeling he was developing a crush on Rodney. He hit his head against the pillow, wondering if it would be possible to smother himself with it.

Shaking his head, he decided to get out of bed, take a bath and then see what happened.

~~

Rodney was in the living room when John got out of the bathroom. Apparently he'd taken the time during John's nap to set up his computer there. When he heard John, he turned around and smiled widely at him.

John felt himself flush. "What are you doing?" he asked. Anything to distract himself from what had happened earlier and his potential crush.

"Determining the best way to sell all my research materials," Rodney answered without a beat.

John came close and sat down on the couch. "You want to sell it all?" he asked.

"Of course," Rodney said, as if there was no question about it. "I don't need it anymore."

Fifteen years, just wiped away. John wasn't sure if he should admire Rodney or be afraid of him. To his surprise, Rodney suddenly got up and sat down next to John. Very closely.

"How do you feel?" Rodney asked earnestly.

John's instinct was to get up and put some distance between them, but he forced himself to stay put and to not even lean away. "Better," he said. Which was true. Of course, he wasn't sure how he could feel any worse than during his breakdown.

Rodney searched his eyes. John wasn't sure what he was looking for but he held Rodney's gaze. "I'm here for you," Rodney said with a smile, patting John's thigh.

John blinked. He tried not to feel the warmth of Rodney's hand through his pants, but he still felt his face heat up.

Rodney took his hand away. "I wasn't trying to come on to you," he said.

"Of course," John said too quickly, looking anywhere but Rodney's face.

"You want me to?" Rodney asked, surprised.

"No," John said, unable to help the tremor in his voice. "I mean, why would...I don't even really know you."

"You know me better than anyone in the world," Rodney said. "Which doesn't mean much, granted, but at this point you know me better than even my mother knew me."

There was really nothing John could say to that. "I should probably start thinking about dinner," he said, ready to flee.

"It's not even four," Rodney pointed out.

"Right," John said. Rodney still seemed awfully close. "I have some papers—" John stopped when Rodney put his hand back on John's thigh.

"Really?" Rodney asked, moving his hand a bit further up.

"Listen, this...I don't think either one of us in the state of mind where we can make any kind of rational decision about anything," John told him, all but squirming away.

"When is attraction ever a rational decision?" Rodney asked. He straightened and removed his hand. John was both relieved and disappointed by that.

"Attraction maybe not, but acting on it," John said.

"That makes sense," Rodney conceded. "So you _do_ admit that you're attracted to me?"

For some reason Rodney could read him like an open book, so John only said, "Yes."

Rodney seemed to contemplate that. After a while he said, "I haven't had sex with anyone for over ten years."

John's eyes widened. He'd thought _he'd_ been on a dry spell, but that was nothing against Rodney.

"It's not that I couldn't have, I suppose. It just didn't seem important," Rodney explained. "And I _have_ masturbated," he added, cheeks turning slightly red.

John was still very aware of Rodney's close proximity on the sofa and talking about sex didn't exactly relax him. "It wouldn't be a good idea to just fall into bed now," he said. "Today has been too..." He trailed off, having no adequate words to describe what they'd both gone through.

"You're right," Rodney said, turning away from John and giving him a bit of space. "I was just surprised. I hadn't expected it. It's been a while since someone was interested in me that way. At least, as far as I know. I suppose there are aspiring authors all over the world who have a crush on me. I never read my fan mail."

John snorted. "I'm sure you've broken many a writer's heart."

"How many hearts have you broken?" Rodney asked, turning to John again, coming close.

John froze. "I've never— I'm not even sure I broke my ex-wife's heart. I do believe she loved me, but in the end our separation was very calm and civilized."

"I'm sure you've broken hearts you don't know of," Rodney said. "The hair alone," he added, looking at the subject in question.

John put his hand up, touching it protectively. "There's nothing wrong with my hair."

"Your hair is a piece of art," Rodney said, playful now.

"It just does this," John said defensively.

"You know, I actually believe you," Rodney said. Then he continued more seriously. "And I believe you when you say that you don't know of anyone's heart that you broke."

"I've never been one for serious relationships," John said, recalling how uncomfortable every girlfriend had made him feel and how unable he'd been to connect to a guy beyond the sexual.

"I think you're wrong on that," Rodney said. "I think a serious relationship is what you need. But you're right. It's too soon. We shouldn't rush into that."

"Rush into...?! You haven't even told me if _you_ are attracted to _me_," John said.

Rodney looked at him for a long moment. "I'll let you know whom I masturbate about tonight," he said, quickly patting John on the thigh again and getting up. "I should move my stuff to my new room," he added and left John alone in the living room.

John had no idea what had just happened. He had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time.

~~

After getting his few things out of Deirdre's—_John's_—room into the guest room, Rodney went downstairs to get the next box of things he would sell.

It had been easy to just let it all go, after he'd realized he was never going to write this second book.

The matter of John however might not be as easy. Rodney went back upstairs and put the box down next to the desk he had commandeered for his computer. John was on the sofa, going through some paperwork.

Rodney opened the box and pulled out the first stack of books, setting them on the desk. But instead of starting to put them in his spreadsheet, he looked over to John.

He hadn't lied when he'd said being with another person hadn't seemed important in the last ten years. Nothing had really been important during that time. It felt like years ago when in reality just a week ago he had spent his day in the ignorant bliss of denial masked as research.

Now that this part of his life was over, he'd have to find something else to do. And while the prospect of finding another occupation was challenging, it wasn't nearly as daunting as having a relationship again.

Rodney felt it hard to connect to other people, but things were different with John. There was the fact that he was handsome in his slightly awkward way. He was also smart and funny, but it had only been when he'd found him crying in his room that something had changed for Rodney.

Maybe John was right, and they were both only reacting to the intense emotional upheaval they'd gone through together. It hadn't been until he'd noticed John's attraction that the possibility occurred to him. Which was probably a bad sign. But still, now that he'd seen it, he couldn't unsee it, and the mix of feelings for this man who'd entered his life only a few days ago wouldn't let him go.

He was still grateful to John for letting him stay. He was curious about his life of contradictions. He wanted to take care of John. And he wanted to make him flush again. He wanted to see what life would be like if he let this happen, but at the same time he couldn't deny that John was right, and rushing into this had the potential of only messing up their lives more, just as they were about to turn a new leaf.

Plus now that he'd found John he didn't want to lose him. Even if he moved out again in a week or a month, he wanted to still visit John, help him with the vision he had of restoring Saint Brigid and help him getting over his own demons. An ill-fated affair could destroy any chance of a deepening friendship between them, so he was willing to wait.

Though looking at John reaching over the table to get a piece of paper, shirt slipping up to expose a bit of his waist, Rodney had a feeling that that particular part of his feelings for John wouldn't go away.

~~

The next weeks passed by very quickly, and Rodney turned out to be right. His attraction to John, once realized didn't disappear again.

He spent most of his day going through his belongings and finding the best way to sell them. Every day he sent out packages with what he'd sold, the boxes slowly disappearing from the common room and private rooms.

He also helped John researching—for real this time—things he needed to know to reopen Saint Brigid. There was something very natural about being with John. It was like they understood each other on a level that had nothing to do with their shared backgrounds. At times they found themselves completing each other's sentences.

They ate together, drove to Richmond, spent evenings together and worked together, sometimes separately, but always physically close. Rodney hadn't lived with anyone since his parents' death, and he would have thought it would be difficult now, but it wasn't. Maybe it was that he didn't work on his "research" any longer, that now that he'd given up that obsession, he had time to see the world around him.

Whatever it was, it felt good. Whenever he made John smile, Rodney felt something warming him from the inside. His life felt _better_ simply for having John in it. For the first time in a long time it actually felt like living as opposed to simply continuing to exist. He enjoyed that connection with another person.

That it hadn't crossed the line into a physical, sexual connection was no problem for Rodney at the moment. He fantasized about John and what their first time would be like and that was enough for now. He was willing to wait until their futures and their feelings became a bit more clear to both of them. Living with John was fulfilling in ways that he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around. Giving up his research and writing had changed everything his life had been about in the last fifteen years, but John's presence seemed to be the far more significant change.

It made everything else seem easy.

~~

John was glad about Rodney's help with his plans for Saint Brigid. Considering that he'd lost himself in research without direction for over a decade, Rodney was surprisingly good at focusing on the things that needed to be done for any given task. And on the side he was evaluating options for a new career. Literary critic and astrophysics were on the list of possibilities.

Where Rodney was remarkably on track with getting on with his new life, John didn't find it nearly as easy. He concentrated on Saint Brigid, and when he wasn't working on that, he distracted himself by spending time with Rodney and introducing him to things he'd avoided over the last years, which included video game consoles.

"Okay, yes, this is a slight improvement over the Atari console I had," Rodney commented when John introduced him to the power of the PS3.

They spent quite a few nights together on the sofa, and if over time they tended to sit closer and closer, neither of them ever said anything.

Rodney never mentioned whom he masturbated about, but from the flirty note in their interactions sometimes, from the way they'd sometimes catch the other looking, from the smiles they shared, John couldn't deny that even if their initial feelings for each other were just a reaction to witnessing their respective breakdowns, the feelings themselves didn't seem to be fleeting.

He still had to really deal with his own revelation such as it was, and while it was easy to connect with Rodney, John knew that it was time to let other people back into his life too.

"I'm going to visit my brother," he told Rodney one afternoon as they were sitting in the living room, working. After leaving the Air Force, his contact with Dave had mostly been related to buying Saint Brigid. He wanted to change that. He wanted to be a part of his brother's life and that of his family. Dave was about to become a father for the first time, and John wanted to be an uncle for his niece.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Rodney asked.

John wanted to say "no" immediately. This was something he had to do by himself. But then he stopped himself, because it wasn't. He did not need to do this alone, because he _wasn't_ alone anymore. Even if the role Rodney would play in his life in the future was still a bit vague, John was sure he'd be there for him just as he'd promised. "Yes," John said, and so it came that one freezing December morning they made their way to Maryland in John's old Camaro.

~~

Dave was surprised when he saw Rodney. John hadn't warned him ahead, not sure how to explain Rodney's presence. In the end, Dave didn't ask. The fact that Rodney had been a good friend of their grandmother seemed to be enough for him.

John was almost disappointed that Dave didn't ask about their relationship. His brother hadn't joined his father in telling him his attraction to men was something he needed and would get over, but he hadn't exactly supported John either against their father. John realized he would have wanted to say to Dave, "Rodney and I are very good friends," letting implications of more hang in the air.

But watching Dave and Rodney talk about Deirdre, sharing memories, John had to admit he was being childish. He wanted his family to accept his sexual orientation, so he should act like it himself and not tease about it when he and Rodney hadn't yet taken that last step in their relationship.

And this visit was about reconnecting with his brother and his wife. Charlie waited for them in the living room, highly pregnant and sitting on the sofa.

"I'm sorry I didn't greet you, but if we would have waited until I've managed to get up, you would have frozen to death," she said good-naturedly, rubbing her large stomach.

"John has brought a guest, Charlie. Rodney McKay," Dave announced, looking genuinely happy.

"It's great to meet you," Charlie said, lifting her hand.

Rodney approached her and shook it, staring mostly at her stomach. John contemplated giving him a shove to get him to stop. But Charlie didn't seem to mind, turning to John instead with a wide smile.

"John, it's good to see you," she said.

He leaned down to let her pull him into a half-hug. "It's good to see you too," he quickly said.

When he straightened, Rodney was still staring at Charlie's stomach. John was about to chide him when Rodney said, "Can I touch it?"

John looked at his brother, mortified, but Dave only frowned a bit, looking otherwise amused, and Charlie laughed.

"Sure," she said, taking Rodney's hand and placing it on her stomach. "She's very active today," she added with a sigh.

"Oh wow," Rodney said, eyes widening.

John suddenly found himself wanting to feel it too. He'd always thought he'd have kids. It was probably one of the reasons why he'd held onto the idea that he could be with a woman if he only tried hard enough. It would be wonderful to feel his little niece make a ruckus, but he still felt a bit shy about asking, even though Charlie clearly didn't have a problem with it.

It turned out not to be necessary at all when Rodney simply looked up at him, eyes full of excitement and grabbed John's hand, pushing it onto Charlie's stomach next to his.

John gasped when he felt a little poke coming from inside. He looked at Rodney who grinned at him. It was amazing. John stared at Rodney, at his open look full of wonder and happiness, still feeling the little person growing inside his sister-in-laws body, his brother's little baby girl. His smile widened in happiness.

It was _all_ just amazing.

~~

Lunch felt like a normal family lunch to Rodney. At least what he _imagined_ a normal family lunch was like. Charlie and Dave talked about the preparations for Susan—they'd already decided on a name for the baby—and John talked a bit about his preparations for reopening Saint Brigid. Dave seemed interested and open to what John was doing, unlike Rodney knew their father had been.

John looked happy enough about it that Rodney knew it had been a good idea to come here. After dinner, he suggested, "Why don't you two talk a bit more about Saint Brigid while I keep Charlie company?"

Dave and John seemed to hesitate, but when Charlie said, "That's a great idea, Rodney," the two brothers took off to Dave's study.

Rodney helped Charlie back onto the couch. Her stomach seemed to make up at least half of her body. Rodney still had hard time looking away. Charlie patted the spot next to her on the couch, and he obediently sat down.

"It's good for them to talk," she said. "I don't know when they last took the time to really do that."

John hadn't really talked a lot about his family even after crying in Rodney's arms, but Rodney had gathered enough to know that John's father seemed to be a real asshole and that John and Dave hadn't been very close since before their mother's death.

"He wanted to come here," Rodney said, knowing that one of John's reasons had been to change the distance between him and his brother. "He's looking forward to being an uncle," he added with a smile, trying to imagine how awkward John would be with a baby. It would be adorable.

Charlie smiled as if she knew exactly what was going through Rodney's head. "You seem to have grown very close," she commented, something in her voice making it more a question than a statement.

"Are you asking if there's something going on between us?" Rodney asked, not one to beat around the bush.

"Is there?" she asked in return.

"That depends on your definition of something," he said. Rodney didn't have a lot of experiences with relationships to draw from, whether friendships or romantic relationships, but he knew that being with John felt like more than having a friend to hang out with. His initial attraction to John after John had revealed his own hadn't lessened in the last weeks and had in fact grown. The intimacy of living together had added to the closeness that had developed between them.

But even though it had been over a month since their little breakdowns, their lives still seemed in limbo. Rodney was still in the process of selling what he'd acquired during his research, putting an end to that part of his life. But his new life hadn't yet begun, and he had a feeling that John was also still in the process of acknowledging that he'd have to make certain changes in his life to really make it better the way Rodney had promised it could be. Rodney still thought there was hope for them and their lives weren't fucked up beyond repair.

He was hopeful, and he knew that John was too, but there was also fear of the future and what awaited them. There were still a lot of ways they could mess up their lives more than they already had, and even though it had been a few weeks now, maybe it was still too soon for them to take on this additional challenge of not just a new relationship, but quite possibly the first romantic relationship in either of their lives that really mattered.

"I'm happy for you and John," Charlie said, obviously taking his answer as confirmation. "I always thought he needed someone to ground him," she added with a faraway look.

Rodney wondered about that. He'd felt more as if John was the one who'd grounded him. John cooked for him, showed him what he'd missed in the last ten years and had given him a place to start facing reality. He'd even made Rodney invite Ms. Jefferson over for a pre-Christmas dinner, reminding him of the ties he had in life even if he had never noticed it before John.

But then there was the fact that Rodney felt needed now. John hadn't cried again, and Rodney had a feeling he wouldn't any time soon if ever, but there was something about the way John looked at him whenever Rodney returned from unpacking things in the common room or going to the post office, that made him think that John was happy to have him back. He'd never done more than lean slightly against Rodney when they sat on the couch, but he'd done that, and Rodney thought John might have never leaned on anyone before.

So maybe the truth could be found in the middle. Maybe it was that they grounded each other.

~~

John felt a lot lighter when he and Dave joined the others again in the living room. There was the good advice that Dave had had for him, but what mattered much more was the fact that he supported John with the reopening. And even though they hadn't really talked about anything other than Saint Brigid, John felt that his brother's support went beyond running their grandmother's boarding house.

Sheppards didn't talk about their feelings, but John knew that when Dave told him he wanted to help, he meant that he'd be there for John in his own way. It wasn't the way Rodney was, completely unselfconscious with literally open arms, but it was a wonderful first step, and John felt as if he'd been invited back into his brother's life, not just like family that you couldn't turn away, but as someone who was genuinely welcome.

They said their goodbyes shortly after that.

"It will be great," Dave told John at the door. "I was wrong wanting to sell it."

John only swallowed, a weak smile appearing on his face. He didn't know how to say that it was okay, that he understood and that he accepted Dave's apology. Rodney put a hand on his back, and John drew strength from that.

When they entered the car, John didn't immediately start it, just staring ahead for a moment. He couldn't remember for how long he'd waited for this moment. Not since before his mother's death had he felt as if he belonged to a _family_. Rodney put his hand on his thigh, squeezing it for a moment.

John turned to him, feeling a bit weak, but also very happy. None of this would have happened without Rodney. He leaned over and put his head against Rodney's shoulder for a moment, needing the connection. There were no words to express what Rodney had done for him in the last weeks. John wasn't good with words anyway. He pulled back, started the car and got them on the road back home.

They stopped for dinner in a small diner on the road, but when the waitress served them a glass with a lemon slice despite Rodney's warnings, they left and stopped at the next fast food restaurant. The food was pretty bad, but it was Rodney-safe and soon enough they'd be back home where John could take care of his culinary needs.

Culinary and _other_ needs John thought as they approached Oakrich. Now that he'd taken the first step in reconnecting with his brother and his family, he knew that his new life was finally ready to begin. And a big part of that new life was Rodney.

~~

It wasn't too late when they arrived in Oakrich, but they still slumped down on the couch, tired from the drive back and forth, and Rodney figured for John it wasn't so much physical fatigue as emotional.

"It went well, didn't it?" he asked John.

"Yeah. Yeah, it did," John said. Then he turned to Rodney. "Thank you." He leaned into Rodney.

Rodney put his arm around John, pulling him even closer. He thought of Charlie's words, that John needed someone to ground him, and his own feeling that John grounded him. "I want to visit my sister's grave at some point. I'd like you to come," he said. It was one of the things he knew he needed to do, and he wanted John by his side.

John lifted his head from Rodney's shoulder and nodded. "We could have visited my mother's grave. Maybe we can do that when we visit my father."

Rodney knew what it meant for John to face his father. He'd gladly be with John when he took that step. And he was happy that John felt ready to take that step now. He squeezed John's shoulder in support.

"She seemed like an old fashioned house wife," John told him. "In public, when we had a party, she'd always be at my father's side and smile and be quiet when he spoke. But when they were alone, she could just put her hand on my father's arm," John turned towards Rodney and put his hand on the arm that wasn't around him to illustrate, "and say 'Patrick' and he'd do whatever she wanted him to do." He smiled wistfully.

Rodney tried to imagine that. It was so different from his own parents' relationship.

"I wish she could have met you," John said, turning his gaze on Rodney.

Their eyes locked, and Rodney thought about their own relationship over the last month. They'd worked and played together, eaten and talked. They'd _lived_ together and even if they didn't quite know where life would take them in the future, Rodney suddenly realized that what had made them grow closer wouldn't disappear anytime soon. Even if it was only the fact that they were both a bit broken each in their own way and they needed each other to keep from falling apart, it would be like that for quite some time.

John wouldn't magically wake up some day and _not_ wish his mother was still alive, just as Rodney wouldn't suddenly stop feeling that twenty years of his life were buried in a child sized grave in Vancouver. They needed each other, and if that was one of the things that made him feel like he belonged with John then it was because that was simply part of who he was and who John was.

Looking at John now, Rodney couldn't find a reason why they should wait any longer. Every little step they'd taken towards each other so far had only made them stronger. It was time to find out how much better it could still become.

Rodney leaned in, not too fast, not too slowly, determined, but not trying to surprise John.

John didn't move, either away or to meet him, but when Rodney's lips touched his, he closed his eyes and kissed back.

Rodney pulled John close, slipping his other arm around him as well. The kiss deepened, and John ran one hand through Rodney's hair while the other slowly but surely worked its way under Rodney's pullover and t-shirt underneath.

As their mouths opened up and their breathing got heavier, Rodney could only think that this was a lot better than he remembered. Of course, it had been a long time, but he still couldn't remember being so turned on by just a kiss.

Though they were moving towards a point beyond kissing. John was already half lying on the sofa, and Rodney's shirt had come very loose in the process. When he felt John's hand on his ass, pulling him on top of John, Rodney straightened just enough to suggest, "We should take this to bed."

John looked up at him, lips shining and red. Then he nodded, capturing Rodney's face in another kiss.

~~

They made their way to the bedroom, kissing and touching. John was glad for the distraction, because as they approached the bed, he could feel nervousness beginning to rise in him.

His previous sexual experiences with men had been in bathroom stalls, storage closets and dark rooms. The only time he'd ever actually been in bed with a guy was in college, and he'd felt uncomfortable throughout the encounter.

This would be different. This wouldn't be feeling guilty. This wouldn't be feeling afraid to be caught. This wouldn't be scratching an itch that he hoped would eventually go away.

This was Rodney, who in just a month had become something like a family to him. This was someone who he hoped would stay not just for another month but for a long time after that. This was someone he genuinely cared about, and the thought of having sex with Rodney sent his heart racing in the best possible way.

John tried not to think about how relatively inexperienced he was in certain things. Foreplay with a guy came to mind. He'd never had time for that before now. He was excited, but he also didn't want to do anything wrong. The fact that Rodney hadn't had sex in so long both added to the pressure but also reassured John a bit that he wasn't the only one who might mess this up.

Although things had worked out very, very nicely so far.

They stopped at the end of the bed, arms wound tightly around each other, kissing deeply, openly. Rodney pushed his tongue into John's mouth, and John thought about feeling Rodney inside of him, not just his tongue, but the hard cock that was pressing against him at the moment.

He pulled away to ask, "Do we have, uh, stuff?"

Rodney blinked at him, eyes focused on John's lips before moving up. "Uhm. I have lube in my room. I didn't think of condoms. I have no idea why. It's not as if this hasn't been coming along for a while now. I guess I didn't think it would happen so suddenly."

"Is it too soon?" John asked. He didn't want to rush this if Rodney thought they needed more time.

Rodney gave him a light slap on the back of his head. "You should assume at any time that unless I tell you otherwise I want to have sex with you."

John had to smile. He imagined randomly pouncing Rodney in their daily life. Thinking of one thing in particular he grinned. "I'll keep that in mind the next time we're in the car."

"Oh God, I knew it! The moment I saw that sporty little seductive—"

John interrupted him with a kiss and a teasing smile. "I love you much more than my car," he assured Rodney. Then he realized what he'd said. His smile became gentler. It wasn't quite 'I love you' but it was a beginning. Rodney seemed to realize that too.

He smiled back at John and said, "I also love you...more than your car."

John had to laugh. He leaned forward to capture Rodney's face in another kiss. Rodney made happy noises.

"So," he said after they'd kissed languidly for a while. "No condoms, but we could do other things I suppose." Rodney's hand trailed down to John's ass and pulled close, bringing their cocks together through two layers of clothes.

"Uhum," John agreed, kissing Rodney once more.

Even as they kept kissing, John let himself be pushed onto the bed, Rodney climbing on top of him. They made out like that, and John loved every moment of it. When Rodney kissed his way down John's neck and they started undressing, he reveled in every bit of skin that was exposed.

Rodney kissed down his body, inch by inch, closing in on John's waiting cock. When Rodney took him in his mouth, John closed his eyes for a moment, only feeling. Rodney's mouth felt amazing around his dick. He resisted the urge to thrust into it, letting Rodney set the pace as he began moving up and down John's cock.

John had no idea how much experience Rodney had, but it was enough to make John moan in an amazingly short amount of time. Rodney's tongue worked on the head of his dick, while his strong hand jacked him off. When he watched Rodney lick off the pre-come that had gathered at his tip, taking it in his mouth as if it were a delicacy, John whimpered.

"Rodney," he panted.

Rodney gave him a heated look and went back to sucking him. When he started fondling John's sensitive balls, it all became too much and John started squirming and groaning, desperately trying to hold on. He didn't want it to end. He felt wonderful, lying here with Rodney, open, free. Sex had never felt like this before, a rush that went beyond the physical, which seemed to turn him inside out. He wanted to hold onto it, but eventually it became too much, and he only just managed a quick, "Rodney, I'm going to—" before coming. Rodney licked and sucked him through his powerful orgasm until John collapsed in a heap of satisfaction.

As he came down, panting, John felt Rodney stroke his thigh in a gentle rhythm. He moved up the bed until he was face to face with John, lying on his side next to him.

"Not too bad for ten years of abstinence," he said, smirking proudly down at John.

John snorted and pulled on Rodney's arm to make him come closer. They kissed again, and John felt Rodney's hard dick digging into his waist. He reached down to encircle it with his hand. "What do we have here?" he asked, tightening his hand around the shaft.

Rodney thrust into his hand. "Make me come," he said, and John started jerking him off in sure slow strokes. He kept looking between Rodney's face and his dick, enjoying both the sight of Rodney's glazed eyes and half-open mouth and his hard cock in John's hand, leaking at the tip.

John licked his lips and then gently pushed Rodney back until he lay on his back. He was hungry to get a real taste of Rodney. He crawled down his body until he could lick the pre-come off Rodney's cock. Rodney pushed up just a bit, but John held him in place. "I'm not very experienced," he admitted.

"It's really not going to take much," Rodney said in a slightly strained voice.

John moved his hand up and down Rodney's hard dick, before taking the head back into his mouth. He let his tongue swirl around it, before taking Rodney deeper. He'd always felt vaguely guilty sucking other guys, but the truth was he loved to suck cock. There was something indescribable about opening up your mouth and taking a cock as deep as you could.

Rodney groaned his name, and John felt his heart swell in pride that he had caused that reaction. He began to suck Rodney off with more confidence, trying a few things with his tongue and twisting his hand around Rodney's shaft on every upstroke. Rodney began to make moaning noises, hands fisting on the sheets as he tried not to trust up.

John could feel the tension in Rodney, and he moved his hand down to Rodney's balls and further, stroking his perineum and sucking as hard as he could.

"John!" Rodney shouted out, body freezing and then jerking as he began to shoot down John's throat. John tried to swallow as much as he could, but still felt part of Rodney's come dribble down his mouth. Rodney kept coming, groaning out loud with every spurt into John until he finally stopped.

John moved, letting Rodney's dick slip from his mouth. He was immediately pulled up the bed and into Rodney's arms and a deep kiss. After a while the kiss slowed down, and eventually John pulled back and settled his head on Rodney's shoulder.

He let his mind drift over the last few months up to this day and the future ahead of them.

There were many potential problems. He'd have to decide how much to invest into the basement and either way the reopening of Saint Brigid might fail. He'd have to face his father and the truth was that it was unlikely that he'd suddenly turn around and welcome John into his arms, the owner of an old boarding house that he shared with his partner. Rodney might not be successful either in his endeavors. Or maybe he would be too successful and stop needing John. John wanted to believe it wouldn't happen, that there was more to keep them together than a tragic past, but he couldn't be sure.

There were also many great things in his future however. There was his brother's family and a niece that he could spoil rotten. There was the reopening of Saint Brigid, inviting new guests to fill it with the life that had always pulsed inside its walls. And there were many more moments like this, lying next to the man he was falling in love with more and more every day.

John felt more hopeful than ever, blissfully sated and truly content.

Rodney turned to him, a happy smile playing on his face, as he reached out to stroke John's face.

And loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to windysame for going over this.


End file.
